The Best of Both Worlds
by Zuria Maylin
Summary: Sixteen kids are accepted to either a wizarding school or demigod camps, and sometimes both. People have done stuff like this, I'll join in. T because I'm crazy much like everyone else on this planet. Please give extra characters in reviews. THANK!
1. Give Me Title For This Chapter For Cake

Chapter One

I know exactly where I was when I got the letter. I was in my room, getting some extra homework for the summer done. I grimaced. Homework. On summer break! This was the last time I ever asked my parents to send me to that special school.

My name is Zada. I was adopted, and had no idea who my real parents were. I read as much as I could with dyslexia. I love reading. I'm eleven years old and I have blond hair and eyes that are almost gray, but my mom tells me they're blue, and all my friends say they're green. I live in the smallish town of Redlands in California, and I go to a school called, "Judson and Brown Happy Faces". Like that's true.

But anyway, I was just sitting down to do some homework. I read question one of my history paper:

"1. What was the Civil War really about?"

I opened my history book and sighed. The letters were floating off the page again. Great. Now I can't read. And that's when something soared through my window with a loud squawk.

I looked over at my bed and saw that there was a large, gray owl sitting on my bed. On my bed! But that wasn't the strangest part. What the owl held in its beak was an envelope.

What I could read was a fancy script, saying, "Zdaa Moroe, The Sopt Room, The Top Foolr, 120 Lido Steret, Redlands, CA." And what I could guess was that whoever sent the letter was one of three things: (a) someone who knew me well, (b) someone who was guessing and got lucky, or (c) was a stalker. And also that my dyslexia was lifting up.

I guessed A, probably because that was the more favorable suggestion. I pulled the letter from the owl's beak, he let go pretty easily, and then he flew back through the window.

I looked at it curiously. There was no return address.

A call came from below, "Zada! Zada, it's time for dinner!"

"Just a sec," I called back.

I looked around at my room, at everything that I had ever known. Was all this about to change?

I took one last look and closed the door, letter in my hand, and closed the door to my room, having a premonition that it might be the last time I would ever do so.

Dinner was…dinner. For the thrill seekers. I walked downstairs to the dining room. My father was there. He smiled at me, "Hey, Zada. What were you doing up there?"

"Homework," I replied, kind-of-sort-of-not really truthfully. "Or at least trying to," I added under my breath.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching out to touch my shoulder. "It has to stink for you, having dyslexia and ADHD."

I gave him an evil look. "Don't remind me. The ADHD hasn't flared up in years. Don't jinx it."

He smiled again.

Mom came riding out on roller skates with three plates stacked up on her arms like a professional waitress, which she was. "Hope you like burgers!" she said in her usual singsong voice.

I smiled for her sake. I didn't really like burgers. Call me un-American. I have been called that.

My dad, however, had a grin on his face that was bigger than what my super-religious friend would say, "An unbeliever's eyes during the apocalypse." I didn't know what that was supposed to be, other than it was really big.

Mom set a hot dog down at my place. My smile got bigger. These I liked. "Thanks, Mom," I said.

"Yeah," said my dad, burger flying everywhere. "Thanksh a lot, Ab-gail!"

My mother smiled graciously and sat down and took a small bite of her burger. There was never any meat on my mother's burger. Just lettuce, tomatoes, lots of ketchup, and buns. I loved this little quirk. It made my family even more unique.

See, some people say that a school uniform takes people down to the same level. Unless you're me, in which case you are never on the same level as anyone else. I've been kicked out of numerous uniformed schools, I should know. Sometimes there were weird things happening because of someone or something that sided with me, and then things happening because of someone or something that most definitely did _**not**_ side with me.

In the first category are some really good things that, if not expelling me, at least got me on the wrong side of all the teachers. Once I was being bullied for being nerdy because I passed a test that no one else passed, and I asked him, "What's a nerd?" They explained that it was someone who knew something. "How is that an insult?" I asked. He walked away, confused. And was given a wedgie by air as they went inside. I can't believe I was blamed for that.

In the second category, I have gotten really evil looks from history teachers, English teachers, and math teachers. They don't even seem human to me. Once one of them tried to attack me when I was waiting for my mom, the last kid at school that day, when another teacher held her back, and then dropped away as she grew talons and fangs. I ran home that day, and was expelled for leaving campus without a parent.

I dug into the hot dog. It was good as usual, but I guess I wasn't tearing into it as I usually did.

"What's wrong, Zada?" asked my mom.

"I got a letter today," I said.

"A letter?" asked my dad. "You haven't been downstairs all day. When did you get a letter?"

"Don't say I'm crazy," I warned. "An owl flew into my room and dropped it off."

"An _owl?_"

"Zada, don't be so—"

"Look!" I showed them both the letter. "My dyslexia's kinda unpredictable right now, so…could you read it to me?" I tried to avoid sounding like a toddler whenever I said that, but I ended up flinching at the stupidity of it every time.

My mother nodded and opened it. "Dear Miss Moore, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Centaur Forest School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.

"Term begins September 1. We await your owl by July 31.

"Yours sincerely,

"Audrey Herwig, Deputy Headmistress."

My eyes were probably bigger than the list of schools I had been kicked out of (which was growing longer every year).

"Well," said my father, clapping his hands and breaking the silence. "That is very big news. Very big." He made a sound that was quite similar to air being let out of a balloon.

My mom said, "I have some big news, too." She looked quite proud of herself, but I had no idea why. "Remember when I went to the doctor's today?"

"Yes?" said my dad.

"Well…" She seemed to be looking for words to say. "Um…I'm pregnant."

If my eyes could have bugged out any more, I'm sure they would've.

My dad fell back in his chair and knocked himself out.

"Of course you can go to Centaur Forest School," said my mom, as if nothing had happened.

"Thanks," I muttered in a very small voice. I slipped out of my chair, a half-eaten hot dog on my plate, and walked upstairs again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Summer school. Ugh. Worst place in the world. My name is Mew. No, it's Bartholomew, but people just call me Mew. I live with an annoying little girl named Melody, who happens to be my cousin. She's nine. And we're both doomed because of summer school.

One good thing, though: my best friend Charlie is gonna be there. Charlie has brown curly hair and no he is not Charlie Brown. He is Charlie Vanderkooy. But Charlie is the one good thing about summer school. He's lots of fun sometimes, but I don't really do all that party stuff. I'd much rather hang out with my two closest friends, read a book, whatever.

People describe me as gothic. I guess that's true. I'm eleven years old. I have black hari and eyes. Last year everybody said I was the life of the party, and that without me, school wouldn't be school. Then I became an orphan

Our parents were wealthy politicians in Missouri. My dad was governor when I was born, and my mother had been secretary of the governor for as long as I could remember.

One night, a year ago, on their anniversary, they went out to the fanciest restaurant they could find. I remember their voices perfectly: "Now, Bartholomew. We'll be back. Put yourself to bed." Then I woke up in the morning and they were gone. They weren't there. The cook was, and she made breakfast for me. Later my grandparents came over and said that they were taking me to my aunt's house. I threw a fit. I wanted to stay here my whole life. But my grandparents wouldn't let me. They dragged me out to their tiny car and drove me to the tiny town of Nevada. Pronounced neh-VAY-duh. I spent the majority of my time in the graveyard. I've seen a grave that the locals call, "The one who's never comin'." Her name was Key. She swore when she was a child that she was going to be buried here. Her husband was here (Larry was most definitely here, I've seen his headstone), but she wasn't. She had a date of birth, but no date of death, which has lead to the belief that her date of death was unknown, but the people of Nevada and her family knew that she hadn't died yet. Esta Key. The 98-year-old woman.

She lived in San Diego, CA, last I heard. Her family came here once. Who else takes pictures of a tombstone that otherwise wouldn't be remarkable. I talked to the oldest daughters. Their names were Zunera and Zuria. They were pretty, and they were the great-granddaughters of marvelous Esta.

I sat in my mythology class, staring out the window. "Mr. Gomez!" called the Mrs. Miren. "Are you paying attention?"

I turned back to her and said, "Of course."

She smiled at me, and nodded curtly. She never got mad at me. There were very few people I actually knew in this class. One was Emily Baker. She was the most popular girl here, and she loved being the guest of honor anywhere. When I first got here and was still semi famous for being the former governor's son, she regarded me as her rival, but now I've made clear that I'm not interested in that type of stuff.

Another was Fred Philasol. He was the dorkiest kid I ever knew. He was a good friend of mine, when I wasn't really hanging out with all my goth buddies. Fred and I became tight friends last year, but then everything fell apart when Mark and Sherman came by, and we became the most picked on gothic trio. Mark and Sherman are cool, if you're anything like me, which, if you're in 99% of the population, you're not. Yeah, Fred's lots of fun. But he's been acting weird lately. He's been keeping to himself, trying to avoid anyone. I don't know why, though. I talked to his girlfriend, Jen. She said he'd been avoiding her, too, and she just felt like she was losing him. I left before she could cry.

Mrs. Miren was pretty cool. I tried to pay attention, but with ADHD, it was kind of hard. I slipped in and out of her lecture. What I could figure was that today we were talking about Echidna and Typhon. I thought Mrs. Miren has a daughter my age, but I don't know who she was. I tried to pick her out of the class, and when I realized I couldn't, I decided to screw it and just get back to doodling on my homework page.

The bell rang before I could finish my horrible picture of the three main gods in Greek myths: Zeus, god of lightning; Poseidon, god of the sea; and Hades, god of the dead. I also added in little stuff behind them like Thanatos behind Hades, because he was basically the Grim Reaper of Greek myths.

"That's all today, folks, and next week, we'll be learning about Hades and the Underworld!"

I grinned. My specialty.

I moved on to my locker, opening it with my combo: **4-25-10. **The date my parents died. April 25, 2010. There was everything as normal, a picture of my parents taped on the inside of the locker. I looked at their smiling faces once before getting my script for drama. I can't believe that Aunt Tara would make me do drama during summer school. We were doing a Percy Jackson play, I think it was _The Lightning Thief_. I was playing a part that hadn't been in the book but they were adding in for use of foreshadowing. I was playing a young Nico, trapped forever in the Lotus Hotel, and I think we were doing the next one next year. I probably wouldn't be in that, though. Nico doesn't really show up in _The Sea of Monsters,_ surprise, surprise. I read through my lines: "Swell. I've been here two weeks and the games just get better and better. I'm Nico." I sighed. Mrs. Jones always said I lacked conviction. Hey, I can play a killer guinea pig! Keep that in mind for the next play!

I entered the theater from the backstage entrance, watching the other actors from a distance, especially Kai.

Kai was a girl a lot like me—dark haired, quiet, usually on her own, but she was the new girl, that was one of the few differences between us. She was so pretty, and she was playing the dream version of Thalia. Another similarity between us: we both weren't really in the book, but we were written into the play. That list keeps growing longer, doesn't it?

Kai, unlike me, loved acting. She came every day with her dark eyes glistening, and she envied the girl who got to play Annabeth, her favorite character. Annabeth was a pretty good character, too, but I liked Bianca di Angelo, Nico's older sister.

Sometimes I wished my life could be like Percy's, then Kai could be Annabeth all she wanted.

**A/N: So thank you to NiniC, who gave me the confidence to keep going, and a thank-you-for-anticipated-action to REVEIWERS (you all get ice cream) or FLAMERS (you get ice cream too, I'm that desperate for reviews), and my friend Paige because she's going to give me some vital information on Melody. Thank you everyone who has/will review. And thank you to Petra D, the ONLY reviewer (but what was I thinking. This story's a day old!) Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Many people say that Horine, Missouri is a small town. I guess it could be classified as that, what with 923 people. But I'm one of them, and any citizen here will tell you that it's not a small town.

I go to the middle school here. I'm eleven, and I'm already in seventh grade. People call me weird, but I say, "I know. Thanks." And they walk away, confused that their insult wasn't taken as an insult. But it is. Deep down inside, something shatters every time someone says that.

My name is Marcella Larson. But you can call me Marcy. I have dirty blond hair and brown eyes. My best friend…

Her name was Isharie. At least that's what we had called her. Isharie was fun, she was the life and soul of everyone at school, and she was a year older than me. She was everyone's best friend, and if you weren't, don't worry; you wouldn't be lonely for long. But the thing was, she was my _only_ friend, so when I told her that, she broke down in tears. When I asked her why she was crying, she said, "You don't have any friends? That's just sad. Hence the tears." I patted her on the back smiling to myself as she promised that she'd make sure I didn't just stay as, "one of those other friends" in her mind, as she put it. And then we became best friends.

I could tell her all my secrets and she'd keep them. Like, forever. Never coming out. Unless you bribed her with either chocolate or a lot of money. And if you live here, you know that both came with a high price: money because, well, it's money; chocolate because it just isn't common around here. But those were days long past.

I remember one day she called me. "Marcy," she had said. "I'm leaving this town. For good. I just can't stand little towns. I mean," she added quickly, "I like hanging out with you, but I guess I'm more of a city person. I can visit you during school breaks, though."

I couldn't talk. After about five minutes, I said, "What happened to making our friendship more than just another?"

I could hear that she flinched.

"Come on, Isharie, tell me what happened!"

"I…I can't. I can't, I'm sorry. And my name isn't Isharie."

"It isn't?" This was new to me.

"No. It's Verissa. Isharie is just my middle name. I go by it because I didn't like Verissa. But now I guess I'll have to live with it."

"Why?" I asked. "Why do you have to live with anything? I'm not sure this is Isharie, the girl who told me you can rise above everyone and you don't have to live with anything."

"Verissa," she said.

"God! Verissa! Fine!" The word sounded foreign on my tongue. Isharie came quicker. "God, I don't care! What can't you tell me?"

"I…I just can't, Marcy," she said.

"It's Marcella," I said, turning back on her. "Marcella. I see how it is. I can tell you all my secrets without fear, but not the other was around."

"No," she said. "Marcy—Marcella, it's not like that—"

I hung up. And then I went and cried in my room for an hour.

She came by later with her parents, and we all said goodbye.

"Verissa," I said, "I'm sorry about how I acted on the phone."

She smiled at me. "It's okay, Marcella."

"Call me Marcy. That was just so we could be equal."

"Thanks," she said. She hugged me before she left, all former arguments forgotten, but there was still a major flaw in our friendship: she was moving.

And the last I ever saw of her was her in the backseat of a car, looking back on all she loved and knew, and driving away without me.

My parents were screaming for joy right now. I wondered why. I went into their room and they were staring at the computer screen with smiling faces. "What?" I asked.

"Isharie's coming!"

And then I joined them in screaming. Isharie was coming. Isharie was coming. Isharie was coming home.

When Verissa got there, however, she was different. A lot different. She had dyed her black hair with streaks of bright yellow, and she was wearing an orange t-shirt, saying "CABIN FIVE" on the back.

She was taller, muscular, and she looked generally uncomfortable. When she gave me a hug, it almost crushed all the wind out of me. Well, it did, it nearly crushed _me._ "Hey, Marcy," she said. "It's not Marcella anymore, is it?"

I shook my head. "So how's life been like in New York?"

"Fun," she shrugged. "I've made a couple of new friends…not many…but…well, life hasn't exactly been fun since Chris…and then Clarisse got even more annoyed at everyone, and she's been pushing us and pushing us and I'm sick of it. So that's the basic story of why I'm here. I hate my head counselor."

"So…list of friends?" I said, going into my room.

"Well…whoa, you redid this…first there's Clarisse. I don't exactly think she counts as a friend—she's just my head counselor in his summer camp I go to—and she's fed up with everything. Her boyfriend went clinically insane two days ago, and she's been annoying ever since, but don't tell her that, she can beat me to a pulp.

"And then there's Chris—a different Chris—he's got a nice smile, but he talks about the weirdest things…ugh, sometimes I hate that his mother is…" Her eyes widened. "I never said anything about his mother, okay?"

"M'kay," I said. I wasn't going to say anything more than that. "So you like Chris, huh?"

She nodded, "But I don't know if he likes me. I mean, when he isn't busy spouting the future and stuff, he's usually in his cabin or at his table. But…"

"Just ask him, like, 'What is life without taking chances? Date me,' or something like that, along those lines," I said. "You had so many friends when you were here, why don't you have many there."

"They all think Verissa is a girly name. I don't mind not being a part of them, I can usually pass myself off as belonging in cabin ten: 'OOH, oh-em-gee, I _**LOVE**_ your nails! Oh-em-gee, I _**LOVE**_ your outfit. Oh-em-gee! Oh-em-gee! Oh-em-gee!"

I was having a giggling fit. "So who are the girls in there?"

"Drew…Silena…Lacy…Mitchell (he's too gay to function)…Liana…not really a lot of people. Drew's fun when she's not trying to prank you with her charmspeak."

"Charmspeak?"

"Some people have the 'magic'—" air quotes "—ability to make people do what they say. It's called charmspeak. And the thing is, there aren't very many charmspeakers, but they're all in cabin ten. But you need to go to this camp."

"I do?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "That's essentially why I'm here. You need to go to camp."

**A/N: If you've read **_**Dare or Dare**_**, you remember that my friends Morgie, ABC, and River all came by…yes, Isharie is a real person, she was like my best friend last year, and then she went to a different school, I don't know any more on the subject…see, Marcella is based on Morgie. That is what she looks like, and I think how she would act, if I didn't put too much Kara in there. Kara's my other best friend. I think I have a lot of those…**

**Hey, when I'm done giving all the characters their POVs, I'm going to do a question and answer session about this and about me! So send in your questions…and you guys are already really awesome, this story is three days old, and it's already quite a few people's favorite! Awesome!**


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